


Feathers

by satanicbooknerd



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23885329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satanicbooknerd/pseuds/satanicbooknerd
Summary: Aziraphale begins to find random feathers around his bookshop and makes a shocking revelation.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Aziraphale noticed it he wasn’t concerned.

It was a quiet afternoon and after a quick lunch with Crowley, Aziraphale had decided to organize a shelf of his most prized books: signed first editions from some his favorite authors. These were some of his most important books, even more important than his collection of books on prophecies. After the non-apocalypse those books were still important to him, (and still most definitely not for sale) but they were just books now rather than a possible remedy for a bad case of the end times. While they might come in handy someday in case of another catastrophe Aziraphale rarely opened them up anymore. preferring to live in the moment and enjoying the days as they happened rather than following some strict guidebook. (Though he had to admit he was still a bit peeved by Anethema’s decision to destroy the sequel to Agnes Nutter’s original book. He had understood her reasoning and was glad on her behalf she was living life on her own terms, but the thought of any book being torn and burned was enough to make him discorporate on the spot).

Plus, even when the apocalypse was dangling over their heads like a sword tied to a string Aziraphale still cared for his signed first editions. Not only were they signed by the author’s themselves, some of them were rather close acquaintances of Aziraphale. He can still remember the day Oscar handed him his first (and only) novel, how their hands brushed against one another’s and the spark of warmth that filled them both. He had never told Crowley about his beloved Oscar, or any of the others he grew close with. For one it was embarrassing for him to admit he had succumbed to the sin of lust, even to the demon. Angels were supposed to beings of purity who were above such earthly desires and for him to participate in such an act with a human no less was shameful. And secondly, what would happen if another angel or demon overheard his confession and used it against him? Demons would no doubt jump on the opportunity to blackmail an angel, and if one of his fellow angels found out? To say the very least he would be reminded his lot were not above going beyond sending rude notes and memos. Besides it wasn’t like Aziraphale was a stranger to sins of the deadly variety. He was always weak in that department, often indulging in gluttony, greed, and sloth so what was piling on one more? Just a bit more quietly.

Aziraphale remembered one night he had decided to pay a late-night visit to Oscar. When Oscar invited him in Aziraphale was already quite sloshed, (if he had been human he would’ve passed out as soon as the door swung open), but luckily for him he was a celestial being so even his human form could, to quote Crowley, “Take a pounding in more ways than one.” Oscar had grabbed him by the shoulders and led him to a couch where Aziraphale began to lament on all the sins he had committed and what a terrible angel he was and how he was “Doomed to fall into the pits of hell for my numerous sins.” It was a good thing for the angel he was drunk and that Oscar was a bit dramatic himself (aren’t all writers?) and just assumed that Aziraphale was waxing poetic about the trials of being a sodomite in 19th century Europe. Fortunately, Oscar was a very talented man and was able to distract Aziraphale from his despair.

The angel down at his copy _Picture of Dorian Gray_ softly, like he was looking at the man himself. He hugged the book to himself (he swore he could still smell Oscar all over the book) before gently putting the book on his shelf.

That’s when he noticed the feather on the floor.

With a frown Aziraphale bent over and picked up the feather. Standing back up he turned it over in his hands. This was no doubt one of his feathers, if the blindingly white color wasn’t his first clue the heavenly energy radiating from the feather certainly was. Aziraphale wasn’t concerned, however. Sure, he couldn’t quite remember the last time he let his wings out inside the bookshop, but just because he couldn’t _remember_ doesn’t mean he’s never had. It’s quite possible that it happened when he was summoned up to heaven through the circle he had drawn in order to contact the Metatron. It was a good thing he had saw this, he was about a thousand years overdue for grooming his wings and it was about time he got them done. Easily Aziraphale summoned his wings and carefully let them out so he wouldn’t knock over anything. Goodness, even from the sides of his eyes he could see how unruly his wings had become. With a snap of his fingers he felt his feathers straighten and disappear and go…wherever they went when he miracle them away. He gently rolled his shoulders before putting his wings away. Miracling his wings neat was never quite the same as having someone groom them on his behalf. It always left a strange itch for a minute after the fact but it left eventually. He hadn’t gotten his wings groomed since after the flood and resolved to do hit himself rather than subject himself to hands of other angels.

Once the discomfort passed the angel resumed his organization and smiled as he picked up _Frankenstein_ and reminisced on the night he, Mary, John, Byron, and Claire spent together in Geneva.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More feathers.

The second time he noticed it was the following day.

He had paused his reorganization to reread _Frankenstein_ , and then after finishing that began rereading _The_ _Picture of Dorian Gray_. He was contemplating on whether or not to pick up a Henry James novel and decided against it out of respect for his lost love when he saw another feather on the floor by the shelf. The angel found it a bit odd. He could’ve sworn he had made sure to miracle away the loose feather and any others that might have been in the bookshop. He couldn’t remember missing any feathers during his swift cleanup.

Aziraphale stared in deep thought at the lone feather until the sound of his door to his bookshop opening broke him out of his deep trance. He placed the feather down on a nearby shelf and rushed to the front to quickly shoo out the customer. By the time he had convinced the customer _Biggles Go to Mars_ and _Blood Dogs of the Skull Sea_ were certainly not for sale Crowley had called him and invited him for sushi and Aziraphale had completely forgot about the rogue feather.

The third time it happened was when he was finally able to admit that _perhaps_ something was wrong. He and Crowley had just gotten back from dinner at a quaint little mom and pop diner where they served the fluffiest pancakes with the richest syrup. After a quick drive around the city and a stop at St. James to feed the ducks the pair had decided to return to his bookshop for a glass (or three) of wine. Aziraphale had pulled out a lovely bottle of a vintage red wine that he’d been meaning to crack open since the twenties and the supernatural beings wasted no time in indulging themselves on the wine. They were in the middle of discussing whether or not bees had knees (and if so what was so great about them) when out of nowhere a rogue feather fell seemingly from the ceiling and fell on the floor between them. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed as he was still arguing his point about bees and the existence of their knees while Crowley was staring at the feather intensely. Fascinated, he got up and picked the feather off the floor and immediately hissed as his fingers were singed because of the divine energy emitting from it.

“My dear! Are you okay?” Aziraphale asked rushing to Crowley’s side and taking the demon’s hand in his looking to see if there were any burns.

Crowley blushed as his hand was gently turned and examined, “Ngh. I’m fine angel. Think I dropped it fast enough before it really burned.”

Satisfied Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand and bent down to pick up the offending feather. His blue eyes glared hard at the feather as if he were about to scold it for hurting his friend, but instead he miracled it away.

“That’s the third time I’ve found a random feather lying around my shop.” He said as he led Crowley to the couch.

Crowley raised an eyebrow at the angel. “Third?”

The angel nodded solemnly as he picked up his glass and stared into it, “Yes, third. I found one about a week ago and quickly groomed myself and miracled the feather away. I found one the day after but I just assumed I had missed one and I have no idea where that one just came from.”

“It looked like it fell from the sky if you ask me.”

“The sky?” Aziraphale asked quickly sobering up. “How does a random feather fall from the sky?”

Crowley wiggled scooting down further into the couch, “Beats me angel. Maybe it clung to all the dust you leave on the ceiling.”

Choosing to not respond to the bait the angel replied, “Do you think this means another angel is here?”

Crowley immediately sat up and transferred the wine in his system back to the bottle. His yellow eyes were wide as he stared at his angel, frightened.

“That can’t be. I mean…they promised to leave us alone right?”

“Well, yes but…”

“And besides, you would’ve noticed another one of your flock if they were nearby wouldn’t you?”

“Most likely, yes.”

“And I haven’t smelled anything heavenly other than you.” Crowley paused realizing what he said, “Urgh. What I meant was…”  
“ I know what you meant.” The angel interrupted trying to ignore the rising blush on his pale skin.

“Right.” Crowley muttered ready to take another hundred-year map. “Than that’s that. It can’t be another angel then, you probably just missed some.”

“I suppose…” the angel said. Something still wasn’t sitting right with him, it all felt odd.

“Good.” Crowley said grabbing the bottle and taking a healthy swig from it, “Now let’s get back to our earlier conversation. Now while the cocktail called The Bee Knees is delicious I still don’t see why humans would choose anatomy from that type of insect to use as a phrase…”

Not to be out done the angel grabbed the bottle from Crowley and took his own swig from it and pouring each of them another glass, “I disagree. If the actual bees of knees are as delightful as the drink it makes perfect since to me.”

They continued like that for the rest of the night and both soon forgot about the rogue feather from before and the next morning when they went out for more of the pancakes Aziraphale was quite sure there was nothing to be worried about…

That was until the next feather he found was grey rather than white.

And so was the next one.

And the next one.

And the one after that.

He tried to tell himself his eyes were playing tricks on him and that perhaps he needed new glasses. Then he sadly remembered he didn’t need glasses and the ones he used were for appearances.

It went on like this for a month: finding feathers and willing them away trying to ignore the scared feeling in his gut. Each feather he found was darker than the last. Each time he miracled the feather away and tried to come up with an excuse to why this was all happening. Perhaps he simply needed a bath? He created a shower in a new upstairs he created out of nothing. He made the bathroom take up most of the entire second floor, especially the shower considering his impressive wing span. When he undressed and summoned his wings he gasped in horror at the sight of his gray wings. There wasn’t a single white one left on him. They were all different shades of gray: some were like ash, some were more silver, but none were that familiar white color. He got in the shower and tried to see if the water would rinse away the color but nothing happened. Even adding soap to the mix didn’t seem to help. With a snap of his fingers he was back in shop, completely dried and clothed and the second floor all of a sudden gone. Desperate he tried using his magic to change his wings back to their original color but to no avail.

Was it his powers? Was heaven limiting him in some fashion? It would make sense considering he thwarted the end of the world, but why wait so long to do it and why this specifically? He had no trouble creating a giant bathroom on a new second floor, he was easily able to replenish all his wine whenever he and Crowley drank, and reservations were always available for two at the Ritz. Determined to get to the bottom of it Aziraphale spent the rest of the night pouring through every book that might possibly answer him on the subject. When morning came and he still had no answer he stood up from his desk with a heavy sigh, and that’s when he noticed something soft brushing his hands. He looked down to see what it was and nearly collapsed to his knees at the sight. It was a feather, just like the rest, but not exactly. This feather was neither white nor gray, it was jet black.

With trembling hands Aziraphale picked up the feather and tried to keep down the bile rising in his throat. The feather was most definitely his, as it was radiating the same heavenly aura as they always did, but this time it was a bit weaker, a bit softer. Mixed with the usual celestial energy was the slight burn of something not so holy, something more… demonic, and that’s how he knew.

Aziraphale. Angel, principality, guardian of the eastern gate…

Was falling.

**Author's Note:**

> Rating and warnings are subject to change.


End file.
